


Unearned Kindness

by SirkkaSnow



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Grunkle Bunker, Road Trip, Thanksgiving, liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirkkaSnow/pseuds/SirkkaSnow
Summary: Stanley Pines, in his traveling years, stumbles into a lavish and welcoming Thanksgiving gathering.





	Unearned Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Why, it's _baby's first fic!_ Inspired by a mini prompt from [WandererOfStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererofStars/pseuds/WandererofStars): What if Stan showed up on the doorstep for Thanksgiving dinner?

Minnesota in November was absolutely bleak. At least the college student he’d picked up to share the ride to St. Cloud had been good company. His name was Oscar, he was apparently Swedish, he was going home for Thanksgiving, and he’d cheerfully paid for all the gas. Stan had tuned out most of the chatter, but a direct question caught his attention. 

“So since it’s Thanksgiving and I know you’re going out of your way, why don’t you stop in with us and have dinner? My aunt Jess always makes a point of taking in folks who don’t have anywhere else to go.” Oscar smiled over at him, utterly guileless, and Stan felt a vague pang of guilt just for being _near_ the kid. 

What the hell – at least it would mean a meal, and since Stan wouldn’t be related to anyone he was unlikely to get roped into any awkward conversations.

Oscar’s directions were weirdly complicated, but Stan didn’t think much of it, just following rights and lefts and around-this-curve instructions through increasingly empty landscape until they finally pulled up.

It was really too late to think twice once he was inside the front door, Oscar happily wrapped into the embrace of someone who was probably Aunt Jess, feeling shabby and out of place. The house was a gigantic, sprawling ranch set into a patchwork of snowed-over fields, and there had to be over thirty people of all shades and accents. The one common thread was laughter. A couple of small blond children were running underfoot, along with a large friendly dog. Two or three large, long-haired, golden-striped cats drifted around the periphery of the party, fearlessly weaving between feet.

Oscar grinned over his shoulder. “Aunt Jess, this is my savior who got me here at the last minute!”

“Very nearly the last minute. Dinner’s in an hour.” Jess was tall, her thick gold hair fading seamlessly into silver, blue eyes narrow and wise and taking in too much detail as she looked him over. “You’re welcome, of course, there’s room at the table.” 

He cleared his throat carefully and put his rough hand into her offered one. “Stan Pines, ma’am.” No point in lying to _those_ eyes. “Thank you very much.”

“Our pleasure, young man.” Jess tipped her chin towards what was probably the kitchen. “Come on, we’ll get you something to drink.”

There was a huge vat of mulled cider. There was wine – lots of wine – and a buffet table still being loaded down with what might be more food than Stan had seen at once in his entire _life,_ let alone in the last year. Someone was carving up a roasted bird the apparent size of an ostrich. Seven pies sat on stands at the end of one counter. The bounty was staggering.

Jess pressed a mug of hot cider into his hands. “Relax,” she said gently. “You’re quite safe here. Half these people are stuck away from their families. You’ll fit right in.” 

Somewhat to his surprise, Stan _did_ fit in fine, dipping into and out of conversation easily. The guests were a motley bunch, some students, some folks stranded by bad weather, a handful of literal war refugees hosted here at the house. The backgrounds and range of experience were wildly divergent.

Stan ate until he was pretty sure he’d pop – he hadn’t tucked into anything this good in recent memory – and along with the rest of the guests took a break before dessert, wandering until he found a doorway that led to a porch. He fished out one of his last cigarettes and coaxed it carefully into life, looking out across the moonlit glimmer of ice-glazed fields.

Jess stepped out behind him after a few minutes, settling against the railing at his side and tapping out her own cigarette, quirking an expectant brow at him. He offered his lighter and after a moment or two they were breathing out smoke in companionable silence.

“You close enough to get home tonight?” she asked at length. 

“No, ma’am.”

She drew on her cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Spare bedroom over the garage is empty. It’ll be chilly but we’ll bring up the space heater and a few extra blankets. You’re more than welcome to stay the night. Not safe on these cold roads, this late.”

There had to be a catch – he looked at Jess warily, but her expression was open and calm, her head tilted in question. “…Thank you, ma’am,” Stan said at length. “I’d be most grateful.”

The pies were delicious. The room over the garage was chilly, as advertised, but the blankets were plentiful and warm, the mattress well sprung, and there was a hot shower down the hall. So far as he was concerned it was a corner of paradise.

He tried to slip out in the morning before anyone could catch him, but Jess’s voice arrested him before he made it to the front door; she was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a mug of leftover cider. “Stan. A moment, son.”

“Yes, ma’am?” Ugh, she made him feel like he was about _twelve._ Stan padded over, still feeling a little shabby though at least clean. 

“Could I ask you to do something on your way out of town?” She patted a couple of cardboard boxes on the table. “Oscar’s heading back to Uppsala on Monday, and he’s leaving some things behind; I need these dropped off at the Goodwill. It’ll be on the way out of town if you’re heading south. You’re welcome to anything you could use, of course.” The wise eyes flicked to his battered jacket. “There’s a sandwich in here too. We have an embarrassment of leftovers.”

Stan shifted his weight from foot to foot for a long moment. “I haven’t earned this,” he said finally, the words sticking in his throat, because really he should be taking advantage for all he was worth. 

“You don’t have to earn it. Pass it on when you can, someday.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as her smile curved wide. “Travel safe, Stan. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

There wasn’t a Goodwill on the way out of town as he headed south, then west. Eventually Stan went through the boxes, fishing out a slightly-too-big parka and a couple of bulky sweaters. There were packs of appropriately-sized T-shirts and boxers and socks, and two pairs of gloves, and a wool peacoat. There was a pair of scuffed but entirely serviceable work boots.

A couple of paper bags tucked into one box were full of sandwiches and pie wrapped in tinfoil, and what looked like the random contents of half a dozen boxes of granola bars.

Stan didn’t find the two hundred and forty-eight bucks in assorted small bills until he got to the second sandwich the next morning, and he had to pull over for a good ten minutes to blink back tears. 

\-------

“Why are we doing this on Thanksgiving again?” Ford was huddled into his signature Mabel muffler, looking put out as he fiddled with his phone’s GPS. 

“Because I’m pretty sure we won’t have a chance in hell findin’ the place if it’s not Thanksgiving. Didn’t we go over this?” Stan piloted the rental car with one hand on the wheel and the other’s fingers tapping anxiously at his jawline. “Look, you asked if I’d run into anything weird in places that _ain’t_ Gravity Falls, we’re cuttin’ up to Winnipeg _anyway_ to chase this snow monster of yours, and the dates work. Quit complainin’.”

The moon was waxing overhead. Dark came early this far north, this close to winter, and the silvered patchwork of fields was beginning to look a little familiar as Stan let his mind drift. Left, then a long slowly curving road, left again, a quarter mile…and there.

The house looked a little different, like its outline had shifted, but it had been nearly thirty-five years and his memory was far from perfect. Ford had gone quiet, looking up at the jagged roofline silhouetted against a moonlit scrim of clouds. There were a good dozen vehicles parked out front. Stan pulled up at the end of the line, hopped out of the car, and retrieved a cardboard box stuffed with a couple of winter coats from the back seat. “C’mon, Sixer.”

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea.” Ford emerged more cautiously from the passenger side, still looking up at the house. 

“I’m sure I’ll feel better thankin’ this lady properly, or her kids, or whatever. Just think of it as settlin’ a debt, I guess.” Stan hoisted the box and marched up to the front door, freeing a hand for a muffled knock.

He wasn’t surprised to see Aunt Jess at the door as it opened. Her eyes were still as blue, the lines around them just slightly deeper perhaps. Otherwise she hadn’t changed at all. She smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you again, Stan. Come on in.” Her glance flicked back to Ford, who’d frozen on the spot behind him. “And your brother. There’s space at the table.”

“Pleasure to be here again, ma’am.” Stan snatched his hat off the moment he crossed the threshold, set down the box, and dug into his pocket; he counted out two hundred and forty-eight bucks in twenties, tens and ones and offered the stack to Jess, who accepted.

“I told you this wasn’t something you had to earn,” she said gently, “but I’ll pass it on to the next one who needs it. Thank you.”

The house was as crowded and happy as Stan recalled, the scent of spice and apples and roasting meat intense on the warm air. One of the big golden cats was investigating his ankles, coiling around to rub its head against his knee. 

Ford had made it inside and was cautiously peeling off his gloves. “I’m not at all sure we should be here,” he murmured at length. 

“Well, we’re here now. She’s offered us seats at the table and trust me, the meal’s gonna be great. I suggest you just go with the flow.” Stan flashed his brother a sidelong wink, shucked his coat and headed for the kitchen.

The conversation was lively, the bounty of the table as glorious as it’d been last time, and Stan went looking for an outside door before the pies came out with Ford shadowing him in silence. He wasn’t sure it was the same porch, but the shimmer of ice-rimed fields stretching out beneath the shining sky was much as he recalled. Stan fired up the stub of decent cigar he’d kept tucked into his breast pocket, ignoring Ford’s intensifying frown. 

“We’re not in Minnesota any more, are we.”

“Pretty sure not,” Stan replied, and he turned and grinned as Jess opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, ready with his lighter. “Allow me, ma’am.” 

“Why, thank you.” She drew on her cigarette, the ember at its end glowing sharply for a moment as she leaned against the nearest post. A good two minutes of relaxed silence and drifting smoke ticked past before she spoke again. “You wear your years well. I hear you had quite the wild adventure last summer.”

Ford _flinched._ Stan chuckled deeply. “Yeah, that’s fair, we did. We fought off Armageddon; took fryin’ my brain to do it, but I’ve got most of it back, now. You need details or have you heard most of that through the grapevine already?”

Jess shook her head once, amusement glittering in her regard, sharp as the moon-washed snow. “You really have been one of my better investments. Good job paying it forward.” Her focus shifted to Ford, who had found a shadowed spot to set his back against the outside wall, a nervous tic Stan was pretty sure he’d never shake. “Both of you. We’ve got a spare room. You’ll stay the night, of course.”

“Of course, ma’am. Thank you.” Stan tapped his temple and dipped his head in salute as she stubbed out her cigarette and headed inside.

There was a long, chilly silence. Stan savored the last few drags on his cigar and ground it out for good against the flagstone at his feet.

“Stan, do you know where we are?” Ford finally said, barely audible. 

“I have no clue, but I know that refusin’ her is probably a bad idea. C’mon, I’m freezin’ my ass off out here and there’s lots of pie.”

\-------

Ford had been frantically taking notes pretty much since the end of dinner last night – he’d explored the house, taken a handful of pictures, met the dog, and spent a fair bit of time by the huge stone hearth, sketching the runes that were carved into the mantel. The cats had decided they liked Ford; he’d had four of them perched on his chair, in his lap or at his feet by the time they’d finally turned in.

Stan had simply enjoyed the company and the warmth and the food.

Aunt Jess saw them off at the door in the bright, cold morning. She offered her cheek to Stan, which he kissed politely, and a large brown paper bag to Ford, who accepted it with murmured thanks. They headed out in the rental, retracing their steps through stubbled fields that became more ordinary as they finally found the county road and headed north.

They were a good thirty miles out before Ford finally blurted, “That was _Freyja’s festhall._ Or an echo of it – one of her names is Gefn. How the hell did you stumble into – “ He pulled in a deep breath, then looked over to Stan with genuine frustration. “How do you keep _shaking the right hand of doom_ and getting out alive?”

“Hell if I know, Ford.” Stan laughed to himself, fingers drumming lightly along the steering wheel’s curve. “I just try to roll with the punches.”

**Author's Note:**

> Add this one to the 'Stan Pines is utterly casual in the face of the supernatural and strange' pile, I suppose.


End file.
